


Five People Who Visited Hatter's Tea Shop

by misura



Category: Alice (2009)
Genre: 5 Things, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six, actually. But Hatter doesn't remember the sixth one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five People Who Visited Hatter's Tea Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ag_sasami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ag_sasami/gifts).



.01 _Mad March_

"Hatter. You look like you could use a little company."

First time Marchie showed up here, he nearly gave Hatter a heart-attack. (There's a proper pun in there somewhere, Hatter thinks. Not a very funny one, not really.)

"Hello. Would you like a cup of tea?" Hatter asks, because you don't say: _'please get out my chair'_ to someone like Mad March, not if you want to keep breathing, which yes, Hatter quite likes doing, actually. It's a nice thing, breathing.

"Tea?" Marchie makes a rude noise. "Hate the stuff."

"What can I do for you, then?" Hatter strives for a tone that strikes the perfect balance between sass and servitude.

Marchie leans back in his (that is to say: Hatter's) chair. "Well, I killed this broad the other day, and that cow was real pleased about it. Said I could have anything I wanted - I name it, it's mine."

Jack Heart, Hatter thinks, is a terribly slow learner. This is an acceptable thought. Thinking that his mother, the Queen is a terrible woman who has every girl her son so much as talks with for more than five minutes killed by her mad assassin is not an acceptable thought, so Hatter doesn't think it.

Hatter's quite good at not-thinking unacceptable thoughts, really. It's a gift.

"So I said, well, there's this guy I really want to kill. You know, for fun. And she said, fine, what's his name? So I tell her. I tell her: it's Hatter. So she says: fine, go kill Hatter."

Hatter is a smooth talker, if he says so himself. It's another one of his gifts. Unfortunately talking to Marchie's an art all on itself. Hatter's working on it, really he is.

Marchie laughs. "Just messing with you."

Hatter scowls. Makes Marchie laugh some more, as Hatter doesn't think more unacceptable thoughts.

 

.02 _Dodo_

"I need that information, Hatter, and I need it _now_." Dodo's always been a bit of a hothead - too much natural emotion, although Hatter figures that just a drop of serenity in his teacup might have done wonders.

On the other hand, it's not as if Hatter can't handle having a conversation in his own teashop. Plus, serenity's expensive stuff - not as popular as excitement or passion, perhaps, but the demand for it comes and goes, nice and unpredictable as the Queen's whims.

"Well, I haven't got it for you," Hatter says, waiting a few heartbeats before he adds: "Yet."

Dodo looks disgruntled by way of it being his natural expression. Comes with being in the resistance, Hatter supposes; it's all gloomy guses and sour suzies there. "Fine. How much?"

Hatter: one, Dodo: zero. "It's difficult, you know. What, you think I can just sidle up to one of those Suits and ask? You're asking me to take a considerable risk here. A very considerable risk."

Dodo looks even more disgruntled. He's a penny-pincher, is what he is. Expecting very much for very little. Always trying to pull one over on Hatter, as if being in the resistance gives him the right.

A fair price, that's all Hatter's asking.

(He'll even toss in a kumquat or two, for free, especially for Owl.)

 

.03 _the cat_

Hatter doesn't remember the cat, but he remembers the grin, the sensation of being grinned at - it's almost enough to drive an honest man to sample his own wares but no, not Hatter, no, indeed.

What cat?

 

.03 _Ten of Clubs_

"Well, obviously, I love the city," Ten says. He's a steady drinker, is Ten, a cool customer. Quite practical and reliable, which are probably very good things in civil servants and also not to be scoffed at when you're a Queen looking for cronies, Hatter supposes.

"Obviously." Nice and easy, that's the way. Smooth as a drop of elation sliding down your throat.

Ten doesn't indulge, which is a pity. Plain old tea for him, and hardly ever a crumb of useful information for poor, old Hatter. "The outdoors - well, there's all sorts of _things_ out there."

Less of a pity that, apparently, the Queen prefers to keep her cronies on a nice, tight leash. Not a daring soul among them. Easy for the smuggling side of business, even if the Scarabs are a bit of a risk. Still, no pain, no gain, and nobody ever got hurt from having a bit of excitement in his life, provided it doesn't come out of a bottle. In liquid form, the stuff can kill you - or so Hatter's heard.

He only sells the stuff, obviously, with the proper warnings and everything. Not his problem what people do with it, after, is it? Not on him, if someone gets hurt.

"What, like trees?"

Ten shudders. Not a tree person, clearly.

"Got some nice courage around here somewhere," Hatter says, coaxing. "How about that, eh? Just a drop. Fix you right up, that stuff will. Good as new and ready to go."

 

.04 _Jack Heart_

"Cream pie and chocolate," Jack says and he's a right bastard, he is.

Or so Hatter might think, if he'd remembered a thing about Jack - which he doesn't, obviously, that's the whole point of this private tea party, isn't it? "What's your name again?"

Jack looks at him sharply, takes in the table - all right, the _mess_. It's okay to make a little bit of a mess, isn't it, when there's nobody else around to see it. "I see. Is that how it is, then?"

"That's exactly how it is," Hatter says.

"I see," Jack says, again. He looks like he's thinking which is probably bad news. Nothing good has ever come of Jack thinking. Takes a bit after his mother that way.

Pretty eyes, though. Pretty face. Pretty everything, although probably that's just the chocolate talking. Or the cream pie. Too much sugar will do that to a man, scramble his brains right the wrong way around.

Jack grabs himself a seat and sits down entirely too close to Hatter. "Hi there. I'm Jack."

You don't tell the Queen's son to piss off, no matter how out of favor he may be, according to rumor. Besides, Hatter's only human, isn't he? Isn't reasonable, to expect him to be sensible or anything.

"Hatter." He tries to sound curt, honestly he does. Abrasive. Unhospitable. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Why, yes, I'd love one."

 

.05 _Duchess_

All gold and glitter, she is. Probably going to have to bully Dormie into mopping the floor of the tea shop after she's walked in and out through it. Covered in drool, most likely.

Might be a nice idea, to think people can still appreciate a pretty girl when they see one, although in this particular case, Hatter isn't sure if 'pretty' is the word he'd use.

Graceful. Heavenly. Divine. Angelic. Incredibly hot. Lust personified.

Also pretty high risk and high maintenance, with the emphasis, obviously, on 'risk'. Hatter is not a daring man, and he's definitely not a betting man. Alas, he's definitely a man, and Duchess is ... well.

There's worse ways to die, presumably. Hatter might remember what they are if she'd give him a moment or two or three. Four, maybe.

She sips beauty, because she can. Because, perhaps, her sipping beauty means someone else won't.

"People say you know a lot of things, Hatter." Her voice - oh, her voice. Like birdsong, but not the annoying kind that wakes you up well before you'd planned on waking up, because smuggling is best done in the middle of the night, and when it's raining, and it seemed like a perfect idea, just perfect, to take a nice nap while waiting for your clothes to dry.

"They - they do?" Stammering: not generally a good way to impress a girl. Or a boy. Or anyone.

Duchess nods her head. Gracefully. Beautifully. Hatter worries he might faint if she keeps doing it.

"They do," Hatter says. "Well, sure they do. And you know what? They're quite right. I do know an awful lot. Like: you know what's the difference between a raven and a writing desk?"

"Hatter." His name sounds lovely, coming from her mouth. Hatter thinks he could listen to it all day long, and all night long, for the rest of his life. "Do you know where the Great Library is?"

She's looking straight into his eyes as she asks it, leaning forwards ever so slightly. "I - " Hatter says.

Barely wearing anything, really. If he tells her what she wants to know, she might actually touch him. "Tell me, Hatter. Please tell me where it is."

"I ... haven't got the foggiest." Hatter blinks. Blinks again. "Sorry." Looks down at the table, and up again. There's a bottle labeled lust standing on a shelf behind Duchess. He doesn't know how the stuff tastes, or how she could possibly have slipped it to him. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

(She doesn't, apparently.)


End file.
